Daze of My Life
by ThreeOneOh
Summary: The definition of Daze, as a verb: make (someone) unable to think or react properly; stupefy; bewilder. As a noun: a state of stunned confusion or bewilderment. According to Edward, Bella should have been the definition.
1. Chapter 1

*Disclaimer: This is me Disclaiming that I don't own these characters and so on and hence forth.

* * *

At twenty-four, you would think that I would have my life figured out. That the future I had imagined would be happening NOW. I would have graduated from college like a big majority of The Class of so and so. I'd have travel around the world with the guys, goofing off and getting laid. I'd have a career and a steady income. Be married. Be a father. Work hard and provide for my family. Some of that has happened, in ways I never dreamed of happening. Some of it, I'm still trying to figure out. But to get to that part of my story, we'd have to go back to more than a decade ago. To a place where stories usually begin. Yes, I'm talking about High School. To my Sophomore year of high school, when my life changed forever. Dramatic, I know. But that was the year that She came into my life. And yes, of course this story involves a girl.

.

I can hear shouting the moment I'm in front of my house. For a moment, I'm worried. My parents never argue. This loud at least. As I step closer to the door, I realize that they're not actually arguing. My mother is majorly ticked off though. "If she does it one more time, I swear I will head right over there and shake her!" I hear my mother practically growl as I open the door. "Oh, thank God!" She says from the other room. "Edward can handle it. Her." She says say, and even though I cant see her face, I know she she's grinding her teeth. "Get in here, Edward!" I make my way to the kitchen where I find my dad, leaning against the counter, my mother pacing back and forth in front of him. And I'm right, my mother is pissed. It takes a lot to piss of my mother. Right now her brown eyes seem practically red and her pale skin is flushed, and at five feet you'd swear she was towering over me with the look she was giving me.

"Whats the problem?" I say, uncertainly. I mentally go through my day. Did I do something? I went to all my classes. Today. I haven't ditched a whole school day in weeks. I've turned in all my homework. Sure, I did fail my Spanish oral presentation last week, but my parents know I'm crap at Spanish.

"The problem is," my mother says between her gritted teeth, "is that this phone has been ringing off the hook for the past twenty minutes and I know its THAT GIRL!" Ah, I think. 'That Girl', the name she gave my girlfriend the first time she broke up with me. She's never gotten over it. And with all our break-ups-to-make-up, I can't say that I really blame her. "The problem is," she repeats, "that she keeps calling and hanging up. Calling and hanging up. School just let out TEN minutes ago! What is her problem! Doesn't she have a sixth period. Doesn't she know _you_ have a sixth period. And what is your problem?"

"Now, hold on, Es. Its not his fault." My father, Carlisle, always the calm one, starts to rub my mothers shoulder. She's calmed some, but not much.

"I'm sorry," she says calmly. "Its just that, the moment I say Hello, the phone clicks. I mean, we have caller ID. Her name is displayed right there!" My mother gestures to the phone on the wall. At that moment it rings. My mothers lips purse and her eyes narrow, and, probably imagining the phone were Tanya; marches right over and pulls it off the wall. "He's right here!" She grits out, and marches back over to me, handing me the phone. Not before she says into the mic, "Tell her if she pulls this shit again, we change our number," my mother warns.

"What is her problem?" Tanya says before I get in a 'Hello'. By the sound of my mothers gasp I know she heard her, and in that moment I'm grateful the phone is cordless and I'm out the kitchen before Tanya can hear my mother say, 'That little bitch!' "I've been trying to get a hold of you!" Tanya screeches. "Where have you been?" I roll my eyes. Here it comes, I think. "Where did you go after school? Who were you with? The girls said they saw you talking to another girl. Who was she?"

 _Hello to you too, honey,_ I think. Instead I sigh and say, "It was Angela. She asked if she can borrow my notes for Health class." And in an instant, less than a second, I'm tired. Tired of all this. Of Tanya. Of having to explain myself every time shes unhappy with me. Lastly, at myself. Getting involved with her wasn't supposed to happen though. I mean, a guy in a band that listens to death metal dating a cheerleader. It didn't make sense to a lot of people, but at the same time? Total cliche.

But our relationship was great, at first. Tanya. Tall, long blond hair, beautiful blue eyes. I bumped into her at her locker, literally, last semester. I was reading over my Spanish notes and I wasn't watching where I was going. I thought she was beautiful from the get go. And not because of her looks. She had an amazing smile and this laugh that made my heart squeeze. She was confident and so sure of herself and sweet. We fell hard and fast. But things changed shortly after we lost our virginity to one another. After our first I love you's.

She became this crazed person I didn't know. Paranoid that I was fucking up on her. Every girl I spoke to, all I would hear is, 'Is she prettier than me?' or 'Do you want fuck her?' It drove me crazy. I felt like I was walking on egg shells every time a girl talked to me. She became shallow and focused on herself and her looks. Wearing clothes that seemed to get smaller and tighter. Eating smaller meals and exercising like crazy. Her laugh became fake, unless she was with her friends, and laughing at someone elses expense. Which was often. Her sweetness turned into a don't-fuck-with-me attitude. She was so unhappy and she didn't realize it. God forbid I mention it, those arguments were the worse. Those were The Break Up Arguments.

Don't ask me why I haven't broken up with her for real. Did I pity her? Maybe. She didn't have many true friends. The 'Girls' were like parasites. Feeding off of her and feeding her all this bull crap. They loved starting drama. And she fell for it every time.

Did I not break up with her because it was comfortable and all I knew? Sure. She was my first real girlfriend. The girl I lost my v-card to. I keep hoping she'll change. Drop the 'Girls' and realize she's better than that. That they were dragging her down.

"Notes for Health class? Right." She scoffed, in a tone that meant she didn't believe me. "Lauren said-"

And right then, I could scream from frustration. It's always the same shit. "Lauren said" or "Jessica said". I wish those girls would stay out of my fucking relationship.

"Forget what she said," I say, my teeth gritted in frustration. "For once, can we just not argue. Please! Just for one fucking day!" I feel guilty for yelling at her. My parents have raised me to treat women with respect, no matter who they were. I should throw those words in my moms face the next time she's upset with Tanya. She'd probably slap me.

"What the hell is your problem? Don't you dare try and turn this on me. I'm the one who is supposed to be mad!" She sighs, "You know what?" There's a pause. Here it comes. "Fuck you!" She yells, followed by a click.

I let out my frustration with a growl and throw the phone on my bed. Then I throw myself. My parents were right, when they said that relationships weren't easy. Then again, they never said that they'd be this hard. A lot of work, sure. But not hard. And considering my mothers reaction to Tanya, I'm pretty sure it wasn't supposed to _be_ this hard. I think I'll break up with her tomorrow. Then I think I wont. And then I think that I must be some teeny bopper girl instead of an almost sixteen year old man. Just laying here, self loathing. I'm driving myself fucking crazy! (Or maybe Tanya is...)

.

"You got another one, Edward." My mother says from my doorway, with a smile. She must be in a better mood. A second later a thick yellow envelope land on my chest. I already know its full of pictures- slash- postcards. I couldn't keep the smile off my face if I wanted to. No matter how horrible my day had been going. Tanya who?

"Thanks, Ma." I say, sitting up. I cant rip the envelope open fast enough, and pour the contents on my bed. Out falls a page or two of notebook paper, the edges ripped, torn out of a composition book. And photos wrapped with a rubber band. I slip off the elastic and look at the first photo. It's a photo of Jasper, I can tell right away. Already I'm disappointment. It's never a photo of Her. In the photo, Jasper is squatting down in front of a little girl, a big smile on his face. He's handing her a bright red rose. And although it's a photo of the back of her head, I can tell by the way her head is thrown back that she's laughing. I look on the back and read her neat writing. 'Blue eyed boy meets a brown eyed girl... the sweetest thing.'

I've grown used to the randoms lyrics she throws on her pictures. I pick up the envelope and read her name in the upper left hand corner. Isabella Swan. Along with an address from Beijing. I flip the through the photos and study them for a long while. The small things in the background, trying to get some kind of clue to what they're doing there now. Looks like some kind of festival. I want to flip through them fast, get to her letter sooner. But its become a ritual to see the photos first, then get to the letter. It gives me a sense that I'm there.

My heart is beating hard when I get to the last photo. Anticipation. Knowing that the letter's next. The last photo is blurry, barely catching a pair of green Chucks standing in a puddle. In the puddle, my name written out with pebbles. I put the pictures on my bed and pick up the sheets of paper. Her letters to me usually read like a diary, different dates and different ink. Some writing sloppy, like she was in a rush to get it out. Some in neat cursive, like the whole time she was taking her time, thinking of me. The letter is dated a few weeks back.

 _Dear(est) Edward, 12/07_

 _Get it (^)? Greetings from Shanghai! I would write out a greeting in Chinese,but then I'd have to walk across this small ass room, grab my translation book, turn it a few pages, then write it out (or draw it?), then proof, then erase ('cause odds are I fucked it up), then wonder if you can even read it, just to scratch it out and not even put it. Jeesh, that's too much work! Can I take a nap now? (I kid!) We literally just got here, and I rushed to plop myself on this bed so I can hurry up and write to you. Cause of course you want to hear about the long plane ride, where I almost strangled Jazzy with my earphones.(Right?)_

She then goes on to tell me about how she almost strangled Jasper with her earphones. It was all accidental. Something about the way they fell asleep. I skimmed that part. Like I want to hear about her and Jasper. Then I roll my eyes. Why am I even bothered about it? The next part is dated a couple of days later.

 _Eddieeeeeeeeee! Please come rescue me. If I send you all this yen, or whatever the crap is called, will you come for me? You will? LET ME PACK! But, alas, zat will not 'appen. Can you read my fake ass accent? Its raining outside. Pouring. And hot. Like my clothes are sticking to me in the most disgusting way. Grrr. How is that possible? Looking outside makes me tired. All gray and wet. How in the hell are they still riding their bikes out there. And their kids. Oh my goodness, these kids! Out there. In the rain. Wearing shorts and just walking around puddle jumping. They're all like, la la la la, let my chest get cold. Whats pneumonia? Idiots. No, I apologize. I blame my hostility on the lack of sleep I've been getting. Something lately feels off. I'm anxious. I can't wait until_

That part of the letter ends there. The ink on the L smeared, like the pen just slipped. I imagine that she saw something interesting and just dropped the pen and forgot about writing to me. The rest of the page, written in metallic silver gel ink, is full of lyrics to the song In the Rain by The Dramatics. The last page is written in bright green ink.

 _We're in Beijing! How fucking cool is that? Have you started school yet? What grade are you in? What's it like being in an actual school? It sound like fun to me. Its been forever since I've been part of an actual school. God, I miss you! Is that crazy?! I squeeze my eyes shut and try to imagine what you look like. The man you're growing up to be. But all I see is a bowl cut and a gap from the tooth you had just lost. Oh, Edward. If you can hear me sigh, you'd hear how unhappy I am. Right now. In this moment. I'm so tired of this. I miss HOME. YOU! People who speak English. El oh el. Well,clear English. I'm tired of translation books. And my portable CD player is busted! What is my life? I mean, I can't complain. Can I? I've traveled to places others have yet to go. And the stuff I'm learning? Priceless. But, then at night,when all the partying is over? I feel like I'm missing something. And I'm so tired right now that my thoughts are all over the place. Maybe its all this mein and egg rolls that have become my number one source of nutrition. Maybe I'll have McDanny's tomorrow. I should get some rest, but I cant stop thinking about you. Is that weird? My downtime is spent thinking of you. Of what you're doing. Would I be hanging out with you and if my Renee and Charlie didn't travel so much. What kind of teenager are Jazz and I compared to you and your friends. Are we crazy? Or tame? The way we speak? Is it the way you speak? Like, you know, when a white girl tries to sound chola by speaking random Spanish words. "Whad up, ese?" El oh el. Is that how you sound? Is that how we sound? I wish we could have grown up together. Physically, I mean. A real friendship. Instead I write letters and send pictures to a boy/man who I barely remember. Can I say that I know you? Can I consider you my friend. And you, sitting there, getting random letters and pictures from a girl who you probably can't remember. Is this what we've become? When did this letter get so depressing. It started off with We're in Beijing! El oh el. I'm just sleepy. I can't stop yawning. My eyes cant stop getting watery. Its 3:48 in the morning here. What time is it there?_

 _N-e-wayz. Let me tell you about this cool festival that's going on..._

The rest of the letter she tells me about the things she's been doing in Beijing. How this festival is one big party. How crazy her housemates are. Of how this is the first time that she and Jazz are living alone in an apartment that she shares with a couple of other teens that are touring from other places. I've always been jealous of the adventures that she's had.

I sigh, getting up off my bed with a few of that photos that I have deemed my favorites. I head to the wall across from my bed. Picking up a few thumb tacks, I start to pin them on my cork wall, next to the other ones that I've received over the years. I have hundreds of them. Photos and postcards from all over the world. From exotic places, like Morocco, and Greece, to regular cities like Plano, and Boise. Pictures and postcards that I have been getting since I was eight years old. First, postcards that her parents bought her, then eventually pictures that she started taking. Pictures of random things like a bus stop, or the sky, always with random lyrics that go she felt 'went with the mood'. In my small town of Chaplin, this wall is the only view I have of an outside world.

Isabella Swan. My best friend, regardless of what she thinks, and a stranger all at the same time. My last memory is of her being hauled of the playground apparatus after punching Mike Newton in the face. They moved out of their house a few days after that. For the longest time I thought that was the consequence everyone got. You punch a kid in the face and you had to move away. I mean, I was seven. Give me a break. I was traumatized. It wasn't until later that I learned that her fathers job always kept them up and moving. She'd only been in my class for a few months. The longest she's ever stayed in her lifetime she told me later in one of her letter.

All my memories of her are jumbled. Little kid memories that are always scattered, glimpses of a bigger picture. A quick shot of me laughing at the way her tongue stuck out the corner of her mouth while she concentrated on the jigsaw puzzle we were doing. Or a time that she did a neat flip on a skateboard that had me pissed at her for days, or hours. Maybe just minutes. The way she spoke with her hands sometimes, forgetting to use her mouth at all. It left me confused, I remembered. The way she would get mad when she realized that I didn't understand what she was doing. She loved to sing, and dance. She liked to fight and climb and skateboard. And she loved to visit me, I remember. She'd come over to my house everyday after homework. I felt special. She loved spending time with me. But she loved to leave with Jasper more, I think.

My memory of the first time I met her is clear, though. She was on the other side of the wooden fence in my backyard. She lived in the house that all the children in the neighborhood thought was haunted. I heard hear yelling before I actually saw her. She was yelling at someone, arguing about how what she just did counted as a point. I moved the loose board in the fence, the one my father said to not play with, to the side to see a girl about my age, wearing a dress the brightest green I've ever seen, a basketball against her hip.

"That was all net," she said. I realized then that she was yelling at a boy who seemed a bit older than us, only because he was so much taller than her. Already I was afraid for her. Didn't she know better than to yell at kids that were bigger than her. But the boy just shook his head, not speaking, but moving his hands. "Fine, then!" She said, throwing the ball to the ground. "I'm not playing with you anymore!" She said with huff, crossing her arms over her chest. Then she started crying.

"Are you okay?" I remember asking. Only because a few days earlier, when Jessica was crying on the yard at school, the teacher had asked her the same thing. They both snapped their heads in my direction. I felt nervous all of a sudden. "I'm fine," she said, wiping her eyes and sniffling. "My housemate is being mean, is all." I didn't understand what she meant by housemate at the time. The boy just shrugged, picked up the ball and started playing by himself. I moved the loose board, opening it up further, and asked her if she wanted to come and play. From then on, we were friends.

I was told later, by my parents, that I knew her before that moment. That they had just moved back a few days before, after being gone for a couple of years. That we had napped in the same playpen during block parties, when we were a few months old. I was, supposedly, the reason for her first step. "She wanted the ball that you had so badly," my father had laughed. "She just let go of the coffee table and took off." But of course, I didn't remember any of that. It was always that day with the bright green dress that I remembered.

"Where's that one from this time," my dads asks, breaking my reminiscence. I turn to see him, leaning against my door frame. "Beijing," I said, turning back to the photos. "Nice," he replies, to which I just nod. He must take my silence as a clue that I don't really feel like speaking. He knocks on the door frame twice. "Soups on," he says with a sigh, walking away.

My parents heard my conversation with Tanya. Of course. It didn't help matters that I'd been having trouble in school the past few weeks. The marks on my schoolwork not where they should be. My head not in the game during baseball practice. And band practice. I've been feeling anxious and strung tight, about ready to burst.

After dinner, I grab my guitar and head to James house. James, my second oldest friend. We practice for a few hours. Me on guitar, singing. James on drums, our friend Alice on bass. We're not rock stars, but we're pretty well known in our small town as a go-to cover band for last minute parties and Bar Mitzvahs. Its when I'm playing that I start to feel better. The stress on my shoulders melting away. I know parents say that a future in music can sometimes get you nowhere. But I know that this is what I want to do. This is what I want for my future. Not for the money. Or the fame. But to just be on stage, in front of a large crowd. Me and my guitar. Oh what a world that could be.

.

Alice is with me the following week (don't let Tanya find out) when I receive another photo. A picture of worn down, ragged shoes.

"Where's that one from this time?" she asks, before I have a chance to read the back.

"Kurgan. Russia." I said, reading the envelope the picture came in. That's all there was. This one photo. I can't remember the last time I only received one photo.

"Can you remember the first one you've gotten?" She asks, distracting me from reading the back of the photo. I'm itching to get it. Instead I place it down. I move away from my desk, and move to grab a postcard from my side table dresser. Its framed and has been sitting there since I received it a while after she moved away. It's a postcard from New York, a picture of a big red apple reading I heart New York. Her sloppy seven year old handwriting spelling out Edword Cullin. I still smile.

"Lucky bitch," she sighs. "Beijing, Maui," she touches random photos. "Greece, Rome, Paris, Germany. Jeesh. The biggest news Chaplin has received lately is Mrs. Carter running off with the mail man."

"UPS driver," I correct her, laughing. I head back to the desk to pick up the photo, my heart beat racing for some unknown reason. I feel nervous all of a sudden. Like, this photo may be my last.

"And all the while, we're stuck in this boring old town," she continues. "While there are kids our age, just like her, who's biggest problem is probably deciding what spot on the globe they're heading to next."

But I don't tell her that, according to Bella, it's not all cracked up as it seems to be. She goes on talking but I can't hear what she's saying. My eyes are focused on the back of the photo, and I'm sure my heart has stopped for a beat of two before thundering in my chest. I must look sick because Alice is going on about my face being pale.

"What's it say?" I finally hear her ask. But I can't speak. I hand her the photo, watching as her eyes scan the photo, her eyebrows rising on her forehead. "Does this mean..."

"I don't know," I say, moving to sit on my bed. I feel confused. Slow.

"Wow," she says, sitting next to me.

"I know," I breath, still trying to catch my thoughts. The lyrics to the song on the back of the photo going around in my head.

Its Home by Daughtry.


	2. Chapter 2

**Edward**

"Did you sleep okay?" My mother asks a few weeks later. I'm laying my head on my arms, minutes before I have to leave to school but I have no energy to move.

"Not really," I said, lifting my head up in time for her to place a plate of pancakes and scrambled eggs in front of me.

"Everything, okay?" She asked, concerned. She places the back of her hand to my forehead. "No fever." I keep myself from rolling my eyes. I'm too tired to defend myself if she decides to slap me upside the head.

"I feel fine," I groan, pulling away from her. "Just tired. Have you heard any news?" I ask, a little too hopeful.

"Sorry, no." She frowns, giving me a pitying look.

As soon as I got over the shock of Bella's latest news, I rushed to tell my parents. But as the days turned into weeks, there wasn't any news on if our neighbors had returned home. I hadn't been able to sleep comfortably, feeling anxious and twitchy. Her words had to have meant that she was finally coming home. Right?

I try a bite of my pancakes but I can't taste it. For once, I'm grateful to hear the sound of James insistent honking. I give my mother a kiss on the cheek before heading out the door, ignoring the worried lines on her face. The whole way down the driveway I'm staring at the neighbors house, looking for any sign of movement, but there's nothing.

.

We're stuck in traffic, a block away from school. Some genius thought it was a great idea to place Chaplin High and Chaplin Elementary across the street from each other. The block is packed with kids wearing colorful backpacks, braces on their teeth. Kindergartners crying. I'm getting a headache. A Perfect Circle is playing on a loop through James speakers, and it ain't helping. I hate APC, but its his car so what can I do. I can't help but stare out the window, my eyes watching everyone pass by, waiting to see if I can catch a glimpse of her. Not even sure about what I'm looking for.

Surely, if Bella were back home, she'd have signed up for school. I start giving myself a mental pep talk. Bella hinted at coming home, but she never said she actually was. For all I know, she could have been saying that I was her home. Or that she missed home. And if she were coming home, I would have no clue as to when. Starting now, I was going to focus on my life the way it was before I had gotten that photo. I wasn't going to let this anxiety, this tightness in my body stay with me. I took a deep breath in, and slowly let it out.

Nope, no luck.

Easier said than done I guess.

We pull into student parking, Alice already heading towards us, her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed.

"Tanya's right behind me," she says to us after we get out of the car. "Quick! Run!" James laughs, but I know she's not really kidding. I look behind her to see Tanya and her posse walking my way. I grit my teeth and ready myself, already on defense. Its too early for this shit.

"Hi, Edward!" The girls say, as they pass me, they're hips moving in an over exaggerated way. The shorts barely covering their ass cheeks. She can talk shit about the crap that I supposedly do, but she won't say shit when Victoria eye-fucks me. Of course.

"Hey, Victoria?," Alice starts, her voice sounding too friendly. "Is that a tampon string hanging from your shorts?" Victoria stumbles a bit, turning her head as far as she can to check, her hands patting frantically. We cant help but bust out laughing. "Sorry. Was that too loud?" Alice asks innocently when Tanya turns and shoots her a look. But soon her attention is back on me, huge smile and all. She pulls on my shirt and, standing on her toes, kisses me. I feel like an asshole for thinking, _Fake ass bitch._ But soon, I'm responding. She may be a bitch and I know its not right for her to take her aggression out on me but- nope. Can't find an excuse to give her, but hey, she's still my girl. And she still makes my heart squeeze, when she's not making me miserable.

.

"Grr, I can't stand her." Alice spits out, slamming her locker shut. "I hate her with a passion, I swear. She looks so fake, and she acts so fake. She's probably just dating you to piss off her daddy. Or so she can say she's dating the neighborhood bad boy." She rolls her eyes.

"Hey!" I say, laughing, playfully pushing her shoulder.

None of that is true. My dad is a doctor, and though we are not rich, I've never had to want for anything. Bad boy? Because I'm in a band? And I listen to death metal? Please. This leather jacket that I wear? My grandmother gave it to me last Christmas. I wear everything my grandmother gives me, even the fuzzy socks and dorky sweaters. In Public! I love her that much and I am not ashamed. I have a 3.0 GPA. I don't smoke or drink. I'm not thin, or a meat head, but I'm fit. At 6 foot 2, I look good. And I'm not saying that in a conceited way.

"Put those claws away, already," I say, leaning against the locker. "We haven't seen her since this morning."

"Meow," James said, hissing and pawing like a cat.

"And this dumb ass right her," she points towards me.

"What the hell did I-"

"You just stand there and start kissing her! Like, her lips have the power to excuse her for her fucking crazy ass behavior! You may not see the fucked up way she treats you, but I do." With a huff, she storms away.

"Whats her problem?" I say to James, who's kneeling down rummaging through his backpack.

"I don't know." He shrugs. "Shes probably on the rag," he laughs.

I shove his shoulder with my tip of my shoe. "Sick fuck!" I laugh. "But she's not wrong."

"What do you mean?" He looks up, a questioning look on his face. Whatever he's looking for is forgotten as he stands up.

"I do see the way she treats me," I mumble, picking at the seem of the strap on my backpack.

"That's pathetic man." James pats me on the shoulder, his head shaking in disappointment. "Really."

.

I'm walking through the D building, studying the flash cards I made for the quiz in Spanish next period when Mike Newton calls for my attention.

"Hey, Cullen!" he call outs, slapping me on the shoulder. "You hear the talk of the town?"

"Talk of the town?" I asked, a bit confused.

"Yeah, Mrs. Cope said that there's this girl in town, a 'ragamuffin' she says. Our age. Saw her coming out of the Motel 6, dressed like a prostitute.."

"No way!" I call everything she says bullshit, only because she thinks that all girls that wear tank tops are sluts. She's very old fashioned that way. Very. She gave my mother a lecture for wearing a halter top. In the middle of the grocery store.

"Well, that's what she told Mrs. Mallory, who told my mom." His eyes excited. Leave it to Mike to this hard up about something this small. Something that probably wasn't even true.

"Which means you told everybody else?"

"Ha! No. I only told Jessica."

"Who then told..."

"Probably everybody else." He shrugs.

"Whatever. See you at lunch, man."

"Yeah, see ya- whoa! Watch out."

There's that quick moment, before you fall, where you know you're gonna bite it but you still ready yourself. You arms fly out and you do your best to catch yourself before you fall and look like a doofus. Yeah, well, I still ate it. Hard.

I don't remember my head hitting the floor, or losing my Spanish cards. There goes another F. Or Mike yelling that this person should be watching where she's going. All I notice are the gray eyes that are staring at me, brows wrinkled, lips pursed, obviously concerned. She's talking to me, her fingers worrying over the back of my head, but all I hear is the blood rushing through my ears. Feel the pain radiating form the back of my head to my forehead when she hits a tender spot. She must not have notice me wince, or chose to ignore it, her fingers are still right there, pressing hard. She looks shaky and scared, but before I have a chance to assure her that I'm fine, she's shoved out the way by Tanya, hard. What is she doing here? I ignored the slight guilt at that thought. I crane my neck, my eyes searching wildly. "Bella?" I whisper.

"I can't hear you," Tanya says. Her voice hard, despite the concern in her eyes. "Are you okay?"

"You okay, man?" Mike says, helping me up. I'm steady on my feet but my head is throbbing. "That chick came out of nowhere. On a skateboard. Can't she read the signs."

"Shut up, Mike!" Tanya snaps.

"Where did she go?" I ask. I shrug Tanya off, and I regret it the moment I see the hurt look on her face. "I'm fine, babe. Really. Just... shocked." I mumble. Understatement of the year.

She smiles at me, before her face hardens. "That crazy bitch took off, the psycho headed towards the main building. I've never seen her before but I swear I'll find out who she is and beat the crap out of her."

But I know who she is.

Bella was home.

I don't see her for the rest of the day, and it leaves me on edge. And confused. Where the hell did she go? And why the hell did she leave?

Again.

.

I'm on tweaker status the moment I get home. Looking out the windows every time a car drives by, every time a shadow passes behind the curtains.

"Chill out, dude!" Alice says, from the kitchen table, throwing her pencil at me. She invited herself over to do homework, but I can't focus on that right now. "Are you going to study for your Spanish exam or what?"

"I already failed my report, the exam won't help any."

"Well, can you at least sit down? You're making me nervous." I plop myself down across from her, my fingers tapping rapidly on the desk. She give me an annoyed look. "Would you relax already? You're not even sure its her."

I give her a look, "It was her. Trust me."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Those eyes," I say, leaning in.

"Do you know how many people have gray eyes in this world?"

"Yeah," I lean in closer, "but her left eye is crazy. Like, there's this dark spot next to her pupil. And it looked so weird when we were younger that sometimes I would just stare at it. It always creeped me out. Like she had two pupils."

She's quiet for a moment, studying me, before she laughs. "You're fucking weird."

"I'm serious. I just know its her." I shove out of my chair, and I'm back looking trough the window.

"And now you're itching to get your next fix."

"Shut up." But she's right.

I can't wait to see her again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Isabella**

Deep breath in.

I am laying on the beach.

And exhale.

The sun warm on my skin.

Inhale.

A nice, cool breeze blowing in my face.

And exhale.

I am at peace.

The spray of water over me makes it seem so real, but I refuse to open my eyes and find Jasper- fresh out the shower in this dank ass motel room- standing over me.

Another spray of water.

I also refuse to leave my inner sanctuary, and Jasper knows this. I can feel his presence standing over me, watching me. Purposely letting the water drip off of his body and land on me, while I just lay here on the floor- I know, not a great place to be- minding my own business. I also refuse to open my eyes to find Jasper smiling at my pathetic self. So you know what I do? I do the mature thing and ignore him.

Not.

I shoot my arm out, hook his leg, and with all my strength- which isn't much- pull. The thud I hear is music to my ears, but does nothing to lessen the stress that I'm beginning to feel. The kind of stress that makes me want to yell, and cry. The kind that makes me feel tight in my own skin, and like I can't breath.

Deep breath in. And out.

I open my eye, and instead of finding a pissed off Jasper, I find a concerned one. Concern isn't a great look for Jasper. Seeing him hurt because I'm hurting always makes me feel guilty, and I hate it. I push his long blond hair away and out of his dark blue eyes. The way he leans into my touch makes me feel even worse.

"I'm okay," I say, rubbing my palm against his cheek, trying to lighten up the mood. Instead, his eyes get softer, and I know that he knows that I'm not okay.

So, instead of trying to be strong and not let my stress and frustrations leak through the cracks of my mask that I for sure thought would fool him, I begin to cry. I cry because, for once in my life, I feel like I've made the biggest mistake by deciding to come home.

.

My guardian, Charlie, once told me that a nice hot bath could remedy anything. Right now? What a load of crap! And if he were here, I'd tell him that. I wipe off the foggy bathroom mirror and stare at my reflection. "You have made a terrible mistake," I say to me. "This day was not worth it." I lean in closer and study my face. I thought I would look different, happier, but I looked miserable. My gray eyes look tired. Is that a zit? Before I have a chance to find out- and possibly scar my face for life- there's a knock on the door. "I'm okay, Jasper," I say, not sounding the least bit believable. He turns the knob, but when he realizes that its locked, gives up trying to get in. He's learned from a very young age that a locked door from me pretty much means that I'm not in the mood.

Poor guy. He's there for me through my mental breakdown, does me the favor of readying my bath, and even gets my PJ's ready and I'm a total spaz to him. In all honesty, I've always hated having Jasper see me cry. Even from a young age. I've always felt that if Jasper were to see me this weak, that everything he ever knew of me would seem fake. It might not make sense, but it's how I've always felt.

I've always had this If Jasper Can, I Can attitude for as long as I can remember. It always got me through a lot of tough times but for some reason, being here, I feel that slipping away.

We've been here in Chaplin for a little over a week. From the moment we stepped off the plane, and up until now, I've been sad for some reason. And everything bad thing that's happened since we've been her feels like one big omen. A way of God telling me that I don't belong here.

So when I open the bathroom door and find Jasper sitting on his bed with his head in his hands, I finally say how I've been feeling.

"I think I made a mistake by coming here," I croak out. My throat begins to feel tight again, burning when I try to swallow back my sadness. He looks up at me and seems surprised. I've been wanting to come home since we left when I was younger.

"Why?" He whispers.

I give him a shrug. I have to swallow a few times before I say, "I feel so sad." I rub my fingers against my eyes, "And you know how much I hate crying." I laugh out a bit and the small smile he gives me makes me feel a bit better.

He reaches his hand out to me, pulling me onto the bed when I grab hold. We shift our bodies until we're comfortable, facing each other the way we do when we have A Serious Conversation. He lays there, patiently, his dark blue eyes a comfort. The same eyes I've stared into since our parents died. And with this comfort, I grab his hand and tell him everything.

How, when I brought the wrong suit case with me from New York, I laughed it off and I let it go. It will get here with the rest of our things.

When I left the keys to our house here in Chaplin at the airport, I shrugged it off and let it go. It's okay, I thought, we'll stay at the Hilton or something. I didn't feel like being at home without our guardians there anyway.

When the bank froze our credit cards because of "fraudulent activities"- because our "responsible guardians" forgot to tell the bank that our location had changed- I started feeling it. This tightness, like, what else can go wrong?

Obviously, a lot can.

The bank couldn't do anything because we weren't the account managers, and by the time they spoke to our guardians it was too late. The most they could do was offer to send us a new card, but by the time that would get here out guardians would have already been here too. So when Jasper and I pulled our pocket money together and added it all up, we thought the best thing to do was stay somewhere cheap so our money could last until Charlie and Renee got her.

So now we've been stuck in this mo-mo a little over a week. Our guardians aren't due home for a few more days. I couldn't even register for school because I didn't have the proper paperwork- the paperwork that is in the house that I don't have the keys to. That wasn't the worst part though. I had to go and run over some poor guy with my skateboard and almost got beat up by some cheerleader- yeah, right. I could have kicked her ass.

I still can't help but feel that this wasn't the way things were supposed to go.

The game plan was to leave NY a few days before our guardians because they had some last minutes strings to tie up. We were to arrive in Chaplin and start opening up the house, remove the sheets and dust, get everything ready for our permanent stay here. So when I lost the keys that had to wait. But then our guardians called and said they were being delayed a few more days. To try and get whatever we could settled without them. But, without our birth certificates and transcripts, my school couldn't register me and neither would Jasper's school. We couldn't even get the paperwork filed for our drivers permit without our guardians being in attendance.

Nothing was going according to plan and I hated it.

I feel like, after all these years, I was holding onto a Chaplin that existed only in my mind. That I was holding Edward, the only tie that I had to this world, higher than I should have been.

By the time I got done laying all this onto Jasper, I'd gone through our travel pack of tissue and felt mentally and physically drained. I just lay there, Jasper running his finger through my hair, falling asleep to Jasper whispering that everything will seem better tomorrow. That, after letting all of this out, I'd have a brand new attitude.

I only hoped that it was true.


	4. Chapter 4

**Isabella**

There's nothing like having a good cry to contribute to a good night sleep. When I wake up the next morning I don't even want to open my eyes. I can already feel how swollen they are and I just know that they're filled with eye crusties. I wince when Jasper pulls open the shades. The minute I open my eyes, I regret. They burn like a mother- insert swear word here- and start watering.

"Close the shades," I rasp out, my throat sore, another crappy side effect. Instead of closing the shades, he does something worse. He pulls the blankets right away from me. Before I have a chance to get irritated I see that he has a tray of breakfast in his hand, offering it to me. Who can stay mad at that. "You're too sweet sometimes, Jasper," I say, in what I hope is in a pleasant manner. Forget my sore throat, I think as I happily sit up and clap and accept what he has to offer. I don't comment when the tips of his ears get red. Goof.

He takes a seat next to me. "What are the plans for today?" He whispers.

I give him a shrug., taking a bite of the waffles on my plate. "Pack our stuff and look for some other place to stay?" I ask around the food. I roll my eyes at his questioning look, forcing myself to chew faster and cringing when I have to swallow the large lump of food. I hate talking while I'm eating. Scratch that. I hate when people talk to me while I'm eating. "I'm tired of staying here." I give a look around the room. "These boring brown walls, the ugly fleece olive green blankets. I think the reason why I'm depressed is this bedroom." He opens his mouth to interupt, but I already know what he's going to say. "Okay, it's not the room. But a change of scenery might do me some good." He doesn't argue.

.

.

.

The minute I'm done with my breakfast we get our things together and check out. The closest- and cheapest- motel is on the outskirts of Chaplin. I figure now is a good time to call Charlie. Finding a payphone is easy- right across the street- but getting this damn machine to accept my change is a challenge in itself. Another way the universe is telling me to quit while I'm ahead, I guess. Getting a hold of Charlie is tough. I call the house, but the line is busy- why they can't add two-way is beyone me. It's ten minutes of Jasper and I standing around like a bunch of morons before I finally get through.

"Finally," I say, the minute I hear the click that we're connected. I have to bite my tongue before I say something rude. "We've been trying to get a hold of you for the past hour." Lie.

"Well, good morning to you too, Isabella," Charlie says, with a chuckle. It's a sound I never thought I'd miss and it makes my heart grow warm.

"Its afternoon here," I say, rolling my eyes. "How's it going over there? You guys about wrapped up?" I ask, hopefully, playing with the telephone cord.

"About that," he starts, clearing his throat. Dissapointment seeps in and I brace myself for the bad news. "Renee and I are actually due to catch our flight in a couple of hours, so we should be seeing you guys later today if all goes well."

"Really," I practically screech, bouncing in place. "They're leaving today," I tell Jasper, who's pyaing more attention to his shoes than to me but whatever. This news makes me too happy for worry about him. Not to be bitch or anything. "What brought on this sudden change of plans? You guys finish early?"

The constant clearing of Charlies throat is a dead give away that he's hiding something and I begin to think the worst.

"What's happened, Charlie?" I begin to panic. "Is everything okay with Renee?"

"Renee's fine. She's standing right next to me, packing my bag and all." Another throat clearing.

"Then whats doing?" Its then that I notice that Jasper is paying way too much attention to his shoes and trying his hardest to think that I don't notice the way he's side-eyeing me. "Why the change of plans, Charlie?" I push. The sound that I hear makes me picture Charlie trying his hardest to get Renee's attenton. I can see it clear as day, his free arm waving frantically while the other one covers the reciever. "Charlie!"

"Yeah!" He sound flustered. I hear a scuffling sound in the background and I can only imagine that Charlie is begging for Renee to take the phone from him, like that would help. "Did Jasper call you?" I yell, his ear most likely not anywhere near the receiver. "Did you call them, Jasper? Jasper!" When I get no answer from Charlie or Jasper, I hang up and agrily walk away. Immature, I know. But when you're feeling this angry, this betrayed, how else would you behave? Forget telling Charlie where we're staying now, let them go out of their minds with worry. See if I care.

At least Jasper lets me get to the corner before cathing up with me. "What were you thinking," I yelling, turing angrily when he grabs for my elbow. I ignore the strangers walking by and focus on Jasper; the hurt look on his face should make me stop and feel sorry for him, but it only fuels my anger. _My_ hurt. "Or were you just not thinking." He opens his mouth only to close it. Good call, cause I wasn't done talking. "Why, Jazz?" I give him a look that shows exactly how hurt I am, but it only makes him squeeze his eyes shut, as if he could erase the image from his mind. "I have never, _ever_ , called our gaurdians no matter how much trouble you were in! And I thought you would do the same for me." My chest hurts and I feel like I cant breath. "Shame on me I guess." I turn to walk away only to turn back around. "What the fuck, man!" I know I'm mostly pissed because I can just imagine how weak he must have made me sound. Pathetic Isabella who can't stand the smallest amount of stress. "I would never have done this to you! I never did!" I throw myself against the nearby wall and slide down to sit.

My forehead resting on my knees, it's a while before he speaks. "I know," he whispers, so quetly- painfully, as he goes to sit down next to me.

"Why this time?!" I turn my head on my knees to look at him but he just looks at me, and shrugs. When he goes to reach for my hand I pull it away and glare at him, hurting him the only way I know how right now.

The sound of a car driving over gravel pulls our attention away from each other. We both watch as a car pulls into the motel down the street from us and two boys about our age get out the car and head into the office.

"I was worried about you," Jasper whispers, pulling my attention (partially) back to him. "I've never seen you that upset." He shifts his body, seeming uncomfortable. "I was worried and so I called Renee."

"Why-"

"But I told her not to tell Charlie. I swear." His eyes are pleading with me to believe him, and I do, but my anger isn't the type that just dissapears that quickly.

"Renee is the last person to trust to not tell anybody, you know that!" My voice cracking. Why do I have to cry when I'm mad!

"Because I was scared too, okay?"

The look I give him has to show how in disbelief I am. Jasper is never scared- except when it comes to our family- or at least he's very good at hiding it.

"We've never," he continues, his voice so low that I'm stressing my ears to hear him, "had this many trouble at any other place we've been to. Or not have a plan, you know? And I just really needed to talk to Renee, okay? You didn't even come up at first, it just kind of slipped out."

Commotion across the street interupts us, as we turn to find the boys from earlier banging on one of the room doors. A certain room door to be precise.

"Isn't that the room the prostitue is staying in?" Jasper asks, earning and elbow in the rib.

"Dont say that, okay? You dont know that she's a hooker." The look he gives me tells me that he knows I'm bullshitting, but I'm not in the mood to be on Japsers side right now. Turning our eyes back to the scene we watch as it takes a while for them to get through the door. DP for the hoe?

"Thats sick," Japser says, making me wonder if I said that out loud.

"Well, sitting here any longer wont exactly earn us a good reputaiton either," I say, noticing again the people walking by. I can only imagine what they must be thinking. Two teenagers, alone on the sidewalk floor, living out of a backpacks and duffel bags. Whatever, though. "Come on. Lets get out of here." I go to get up but Jasper pulls me down. I should pretend it hurt just to argue some more.

"We okay?" My gray eyes meet his blue one and again I can't think of a time when he wasn't always there within reach of me.

"No." I say, but grab his hand anyway. "But we will be."


End file.
